


Tomorrow Is A Soar Race

by Broba



Series: The Races [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Racing, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-23
Updated: 2012-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-31 15:47:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/345827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Broba/pseuds/Broba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This all came from a kinkmeme prompt by the delectable PariahPirate, who I definately will have to work with more. The lower-blooded trolls all bear wings as normal, and are competetively raced in violent, dangerous matches as well as duels. One Gamzee Makarak, heir apparent of the subjugglators, races a team of misfits and mutants who would otherwise surely have been culled were it not for his care and dilligent training.</p><p>This is the first story I did in this setting, which we ... need to think of a name for I guess?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tomorrow Is A Soar Race

Tavros hunched down on the starting rock, deep within the cavern which formed the main body of the Soar Circuit. Each racer was perched in a rough stone pillar, waiting. The crowds in terraces stretching off to the sides and below him roared, and in his mind they were all calling his name alone. The race would extend for an enormous arc across the a series of caverns and even up into the open air for part of the circuit before returning here. They would be watched at all times by unseen eyedrones with imagery relayed to the crowd, but this point was where the race happened. Whoever crossed the finish line and reached their starting pillar bearing the mark of their owner first would win, and make everything else that happened in the intervening time following the start irrelevant.  
  
He crouched low and ran his fingers over his heel-springs one last time, and checked the demand valves feeding into his ankle actuators. They were tight and sealed, there was no mistake. He was bottom-heavy thanks to the dense metal legs, and by rights he should have been worthless as a racer because of it, but he had successfully turned his disability into an advantage. Three advantages, in fact. The first of them was about to come into play, he saw the race marshals confer, agree that the race was in order and could begin, and raise their three flags. The racers all leant forwards in eager preparation. The two marshals to the left and right lowered their flags, and the racers tensed. Finally, the third marshal dropped his flag and the Soar began.  
  
Tavros was smaller then some of the other racers, and heavier then all of them, but his metal legs stored a tremendous amount of energy which was released in a massive surge of energy that ploughed him into the air instantly for an early and vital lead. He was past the length of the stadium and into the free air of the black cavern before he even caught the air with his wings. He spiralled and unfurled in one motion, shaking his wings free and wide, and powering forwards. the other racers would eat into his early lead and he couldn't afford to let up for a moment. Though his legs were a weight burden, the second advantage they gave him was that his vascular pump only had to service his upper half, and his energy demands below the waist were nil. He might have been smaller then another racer, but he could devote every microjoule of energy to the flight.  
  
He had been up late before the race, studying his opponents. Gamzee was content to let him train and toughen up, but Aradia insisted on getting all the information possible before a race. There were five others in it. He wasn't worried about the two Greens, they were in it for local flavour but not a real threat. He was more concerned for the twin Rusts and Yellow. Some races were determined by brawn, some by speed, but he would be up against psionics for certain. One of the Rusts was coming up behind him as he thought about it, and the first he realised anything was wrong was when he felt a sharp elbow plough into his shoulder blade and send him spinning, as the female crowed with laughter and sped off ahead of him.  
  
Tavros span through the air- he had one last advantage to call on. His body was unbalanced by his legs, which meant that he had a far lower centre of gravity that he could spin and turn on tightly, which saved his life. He barely had time to get his metal feet under him when he landed heavily on a cruel spur of rock with enough force to break a huge chunk of it free and send rock-chips flying. The impact would have shattered Troll bone and shredded Troll flesh, but he leapt up into the air again and took to wing. He knew who had hit him- the Rust was called Edema and she used her psionics internally, throwing her own mass around rather then objects. That made her fast, and when she collided it was with a weight that far exceeded her slight frame.  
  
Tavros controlled his breathing with difficulty and sought her in the gloom. He grinned mirthlessly and increased his height, he could just about pick out the tell-tale glow of her psionics in the distance. Edema clearly thought that he had been knocked out of the race by the impact and was conserving her strength, slowing down a little.  He strained for height, inverting in midair and jogging along the roof of the cavern. He craned his neck up and back, focussing on the tiny red glow in the distance and kicked off firmly into the air. He hated to do it, but honestly she had started this and there was no point feeling bad about it now when she would surely have killed him if she had been able. He lowered his head and concentrated. His horns were massive and heavy, and his skull was similarly heavy. His neck-muscles had become thick and corded from a lifetime of bearing the weight. When they collided Tavros instantly knew that he had the upper hand, the hit was good, the angle was right, his neck held unwaveringly. The Rust female screamed once and was silent, spinning away into the dark. Somewhere far away Trolls cried out and applauded, and yelled his name. Tavros tried not to think about it, and wiped something wet and dark away from his eyes, powering on.  
  
He counted three turns, and then a sharp hairpin left, he took it at speed and had to run along the high curving wall of the cave, with his weight distribution he could spin on his axis but couldn't handle sharp turns at speed very gracefully. Tavros pawed at his neck and brought the dark goggles up from under his chin over his eyes, blinding him in the gloom of the tunnel but not for long. He counted under his breath and suddenly he was up and out into the sunset. The race was mercifully not taking place while the Alternian sun was high enough to seriously burn them, but even at the setting time the vast baleful eye of the sun was scorching and Tavros had to chant harshly under his breath not to panic- not to panic!  
  
He shot out of the cave system into the air, following the guide markers of the race. He caught a shadow in the corner of his eye- another race, above and to the right of him. Tavros risked a glance and saw the Yellow high above. The Troll was staring at him and Tavros barely had time to throw himself aside as a mind-beam shattered the rock under him. He powered into a stand of boulders and darted about, but he knew he was playing for time. While the Yellow was above him it was inevitable that he would get in a shot sooner or later, and Tavros would run out of cover before long. Thinking back, he recalled the layout of the track and they were coming to a bare, open plain. The Yellow would have a clear field of fire and dominate the race for that section, that must be why the other racers were not vying for position yet, they didn't want to get caught in the open.  
  
Tavros came to a halt under the lee of an outcropping, bending double to catch his breath. He had to think, he had to plan. There had to be a way out. There was always some way out. He closed his eyes and concentrating, picturing the course in his mind, seeking out his options. Then something caught at him, an awareness on the verge of his perception. He smiled, and concentrated hard. The Yellow wasn't the only one who could rely on psionic tricks.  
  
As if in answer to his thought the rock shattered next to him as the Yellow swooped in. Tavros rolled over with a clatter of metal and leapt over a protruding rock ridge into cover. He hissed in frustration, it was hard to concentrate and the Yellow wouldn't miss again. He was an experienced racer, Centesis. No obvious flaws, his psionics were lethal and he was cruel, too.  
  
Tavros held his breath and frowned, fear-sweat beading on his brow and stinging his eyes. He felt something click into place and shifted, crouching warily behind his cover. Centesis was near, very near, approaching slowly. Taking no chances. All he needed was a good glance at Tavros and that was it.  
"Hey, it's, uh, Centesis right?"  
"That's right. It's nice that you know who's going to cull your worthless fucking hide."  
"I had a question for you though, if that's okay?"  
There was a short cruel laugh, "go ahead."  
"Uh, why did the flap-beast cross the trackway?"  
"I don't know," sneered Centesis, "why did the flap-beast cross the trackway?"  
"Because, I asked nicely."  
Suddenly the dim light was blackened as a shadow fell over them, and Centesis was surrounded by a maddened flock of flap-beasts who descended with ruthless precision, guided by the mental suggestion Tavros planted in their simple brains. The Yellow screeched and blasted into the air, which was thick with burning feathers. Tavros vaulted over the rock ridge, a sizeable chunk of stone in one hand, and darted up to him to club him savagely across the back of the head with a double-handed blow.  
  
Centesis fell, motionless. The beasts dispersed quickly again and Tavros was left alone with the body of his fellow racer, and burned feathery corpses dotted all about. He dropped the stone and pulled the goggles from his eyes, despite the last hint of glare. Centesis had wanted to kill him, and would have probably taken great pleasure in making it hurt- a lot. But still, it was no way to go. Tavros reached out, but stopped himself. If the Yellow was still alive someone would come for him, probably. They had value. If not, then there was no point and he was wasting time. Tavros took three short steps and leapt powerfully into the air again to take wing.  
  
He was starting to tire, he knew it. The trick with the flap-beasts had taken a lot out of him, and his body was burning with bruises from the battering he had taken, but he couldn't let up the pace now, he pushed himself onward. He was an endurance flyer, and this long section of the race was what separated the speeders from the long-range fliers. Up ahead and approaching fast was the wide black mouth of the cave, they would go underground for the long final section, and it was none too soon. Tavros was blistering where the sun had caught him and it was painful enough, he needed the dark.  
  
Just as he was nearing the entrance there was a terrific rumble and a crack. Looking up in horror  Tavros saw part of the cave entrance above him collapse and shear away. He darted and weaved, crying out as a boulder as big as he was clipped his shoulder and knocked something loose. Then he was down, a huge lump of rock smashed into him and pinned his leg against the ground, ruined. Panting softly in pain he could only stare upwards as the other Rust came to land on the rock that was on top of him, squatting there and staring down at him with an expression neither cruel or joyous. Of course, the rock fall had not been natural. The other psionic, Ischaemia. She was a stealthy and tactical racer, she had held back and let the others fight it out in order to come from behind at the very end. Her hands were stained green, and Tavros knew what had become of the other racers.  
"I'm sorry," she called down to him, "you race well."  
"Y-you too," he gasped.  
"I'll tell them where you are, if you can hang on then they will come for you."  
He nodded.  
  
She took off slowly, he saw that she had not entirely escaped injury. There was a stain at her hip, where something had hit her. She might win the race, but she would not be walking anywhere for a while. Tavros bit back tears and tried to stay conscious. His leg, of course, felt nothing but his shoulder was surely dislocated or worse, and everything hurt.  
  
He thought about the others waiting in the holding pens, and Gamzee who would no doubt be panicking right now. Oddly, he felt calm about everything. Calm, and cold. Tavros realised with a start that he had to be bleeding, that wasn't right. He shouldn't be feeling that way. He saw a black shape flit in to land where Ischaemia had been just before and peer down at him with a click of lenses. It was one of the eyedrones, and that meant the entire crowd was watching him right now. They were waiting for him to die, projected and replayed on the grand screens for everyone to enjoy in detail. He stared into the unfeeling lenses of the drone. Gamzee watching him die, like this. Karkat too, and Aradia. He couldn't bear to imagine their faces.  
"Hey," he said to no-one, "watch this."  
He drew up his good leg and planted it against the rock with a clank. Then he fiddled with the flow valve at his hip and ripped out the governor, tossing the piece of metal aside. His leg immediately started to tremble with force and he reached out to steady himself against the ground. He stared up into the eyedrone and started to chuckle.  
"I'm coming, everyone."  
His leg rammed forwards like a pneumatic hammer and exploded, his foot shattered the rock and flew off into the distance trailing oily fluids. The eyedrone was destroyed, flattened against the far rock wall by flying debris.  
  
Tavros pulled himself upright and managed to roll over. He could barely move, but his wings unfurled- thankfully they were largely undamaged. With a heave he came aloft again. He felt lighter then he ever had before, he didn't dare look down at the wreckage of his legs to see how much of himself he had left behind him.  
  
The crowds were calling out, chanting in time. Ischaemia fluttered uncertainly into the vividly lit up finishing area where flood lights played over the finish line. She was there, she had made it, it was her. She could see her master praising her, she could already taste her victory meal. No pain, no Disgrace. She had finally earned her place. She wept openly and sobbed as she edged closer, but something was wrong. The crowd were calling, but it was not her name, and not for her. The crowd had seen something she hadn't, they had been following the flight of Tavros as he gave everything he had left to make the distance and catch up. When he streaked past above her, they all stood up as one to roar for him. He was an impossible sight, floating up into the blinking glare of floodlamps, ascending and spiralling, he clambered onto his rock and claimed the victory, holding the symbol of his master aloft in a brown-slicked bloody fist to rapturous applause. Ischaemia crawled to her rock and collapsed with a moan. Soon, her master would come for her and he would bring his anger with him.  
  
Aradia and Karkat were dispatched by Gamzee as soon as the marshals had confirmed that the race was ended, they raced for Tavros and caught him up in their arms, bearing him down to their enclosure where Gamzee waited, pacing urgently. He was placed on a scalloped half-husk with a padded base that supported him gently. Tavros looked up into their faces around him and smiled wearily.  
"H-hey guys," he croaked, "why are you crying?"  
"You started it, fucker," replied Karkat, running a fingertip through the copious wet trails down Tavros' cheeks.  
  
Aradia didn't speak, she went straight to work checking him over, searching over his battered body to seek out every contusion and bruise, applying analgesic slimes and coagulants. Tavros started to shiver as the shock of it flowed over him, wracking his chest with sobs. Gamzee loomed over the three of them, his face contorted with worry. His makeup had been smudged where he had wiped at his own tears.  
"Hey there, little guy. I thought I was gonna up an' lose you for a moment back there."  
"I'm sorry," whispered Tavros, "I don't think my legs are going to work any more."  
"It ain't even a thing," Gamzee sniffed, "I'll get you new ones. The best! Motherfuckin' miracle legs for my strong guy!"  
Tavros grinned from ear to ear, despite the pain. In all his life Gamzee was the first person who had ever thought he might be worth anything. The others understood, Karkat and Aradia, they felt the same way. Gamzee knelt down next to the husk and took Tavros' hand in his own, squeezing it. He reached out long arms to gather up Karkat and kiss the top of his head, and then to pull Aradia in for similar treatment.  
"Fuckin' best racin' team there ever was," he beamed, "and I fuckin' love you guys."  
  
They were the best, and he loved them. They loved him not because he thought they were the best, but because his love was separate to it and not dependant on anything else. They embraced, and kissed, and shared the moment of victory Tavros had earned them at such a personal cost. In that moment they knew that any of them would have sacrificed as much for their master, in an instant.


End file.
